


Virginia Crowe

by kierathefangirl



Category: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John helps him calm down, John's nightmares; Sherlock helping him through, M/M, Matty Arnatt - Freeform, Sherlock holding John's hand!, Sherlock loses control, Sherlock trusting John, Sherlock's Past, Virginia Crowe - Freeform, cute fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kierathefangirl/pseuds/kierathefangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a letter from someone in his past. He breaks down. John finds him shaking on the floor, calms him down. They fall asleep together and their relationship progresses from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letters From The Past (Sherlock's POV)

**Author's Note:**

> Virginia and Matty come from Andrew Lane's series "Young Sherlock Holmes: Sherlock Holmes Begins" (look it up, it's really good. Details Sherlock's first case & friends, makes his history from clues in original books and explains why Sherlock is how he is.)
> 
> First-person writing style, that's just how I write. It also makes it easier to connect with, which...with what happens here, gives lots of feels so sorry in advance but it's pretty cute, too.
> 
> Listening to "Skyscraper" (by Demi Lovato) to start off, will update when song changes.

Mrs. Hudson hands me the mail, wandering back down the stairs.

I shake my head. “Junk, junk, junk, j—oh my god.”

I drop the junk in the garbage, holding the letter as if it’s gonna light on fire.

“Virginia,” I whisper, falling to my knees. _No. No. Breathe. No one can see this. Breathe._

_Virginia. That takes me back. The only girl I liked. And she married someone else when I got kidnapped like I didn’t matter. And it still hurts._

My eyes fall on the pink-enveloped letter. Her fancy, beautiful handwriting scrawled across it. _From: Virginia Crowe To: Sherlock Holmes_

_Oh my god. I can’t breathe. Virginia._

Tears begin to fall despite my best effort to keep my pain internal. _Damn it._

The letter falls in front of my from my limp hands, my whole body trembling. I can’t control my own body, I’m losing control. I’m losing control.

I curl in a ball, rocking back and forth. _I’m losing control. Virginia. Oh my god._

The door opens and I don’t have the reserves to identify the footsteps before they reach me. John kneels down at my side, seemingly lost. “Sherlock? _Sherlock?_ ”

I drop my head. He can’t see this. He’s my only friend, he can’t see me like this.

He picks up the letter, setting it on the coffee table, before lifting me onto the couch and sitting next to me, wrapping an arm around me. “Sherlock, please, answer me. Say something, anything.”

I close my eyes, another tremor shaking my frame as I whisper, “Virginia.”

John frowns. “Sherlock, who’s Virginia?”

I can’t control myself. I’m losing control. I nod to the letter and curl in a tighter ball, ducking my head to hide the tears streaming down my face. I thought I’d gotten over this. I thought it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

“Virginia Crowe?” John touches the letter. “Who’s that? Sherlock, please, talk to me.”

Finally I manage to stutter, “C-c-c-can’t.”

John grits his teeth. “Can’t what? If you don’t talk to me, there’s nothing I can do. Please, Sherlock.”

I shudder, picking up a pen and paper and scrawling the shakiest I’ve ever done: “ _I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I lost control, I’m...I can’t do anything. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t talk. My hands are shaking, I’m shaking. Virginia, she’s someone from my past. Someone I hoped never to hear from again._ ”

I drop the pen, handing him the paper. I can’t talk, can’t control my own tongue.

John reads it several times through. “Someone from your past, a girl. Okay, I think I know what to do.”

He gets up, slipping into the kitchen and coming back with a cup of tea and a straw. He seems to just know I won’t be able to drink from it directly with how badly my hands are shaking. “Here.”

I close my hand on the cup, catching the straw in my mouth and pulling. My dry mouth sings as the liquid touches it but it’s still not enough to calm me—just enough that I can start to breathe.

I swallow hard and keep drinking until the cup is empty. John lifts it from my hands, setting it down in the kitchen before sitting next to me again. “You need to breathe. And sitting like that isn’t going to help at all.”

My body slowly uncurls, collapsing into the couch. I can’t think straight. I can’t.

John leaves an arm around me, sitting a little close for comfort—but at the moment, I can’t even complain. Because it’s working, I’m calming down despite the fact that he’s touching me in a way I haven’t been touched in over twenty years.

I lick my lips, struggling to slow my breathing to match his subconsciously. _Breathe. In, out. In, out._

Mycroft’s voice materializes in my head, pulling my mind palace back into one piece from the shattered mess it had become when I saw her name. “ _Sherlock, you need to breathe. In, out. Count to ten._ ”

The same words he said when I was five and Redbeard was gone.

I close my eyes, my breathing extremely shaky. _In, out. In, out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine...Ten. In, out. In, out._

The mental talk-through is helping, slowing my breathing back to a normal rate. My heart’s still racing, my hands shaking, but my breath is steadier and that’s at least an improvement. _Okay. Relax. One muscle at a time._

Slowly, the tension eases. I regain control of my own body again and my muscles relax. My heart slows. My hands are still trembling, but at least I can control my own body again.

John watches me walk myself through calming down, watches as I relax. But he still looks worried as hell. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

I keep my gaze averted, wiping my face dry and stemming the flow of tears. _Breathe._

John slides his hand into mine, drawing my attention slightly back towards him. “Sherlock.”

I swallow hard. “Better.”

John shakes his head. “You’re shaking. What the hell set you off?”

“Virginia,” I murmur, glancing towards him. “Old...old friend.”

“Old friend, right.” John shakes his head. “Old friends don’t get that reaction.”

I swallow again. “She...she abandoned me? When I got kidnapped?”

John frowns. “You got kidnapped?”

I close my eyes. “I started solving cases when I was fourteen. One that I solved was...well, the guy never gave up. And the more I dug, the more cases I took...the more enemies I had. So I was knocked out and ferried to China. Luckily, I made a friend. I solved a case or two. But just as I was about to go home, I got the letter Mycroft had sent. Handwritten, more than he usually did. And he told me how everything was back home, how everyone I knew was okay. He also told me that Virginia has married some guy I never even met in that time. I-I’ve never felt like that before. And I don’t want to again.”

John’s eyes widen. “You mean she broke your heart.”

I drop my head, running a hand over my hair. “If you could call it that. She didn’t just...she broke _me_. She shattered my whole world. So I tried to keep going. I blocked out emotions so I couldn’t feel the pain. I built up my mind palace to help me in cases. I tried to forget. I tried...I tried to move on.”

I flick a hand towards the letter. “I haven’t seen something like that in...since I was fifteen. Since my world fell apart. Seeing it again just...I don’t know. I lost control, my walls fell. No one can handle that much emotion at once. Especially not me. Not after all this time.”

John picks the letter up, turning it over in his hands. “You wanna read it?”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

He pauses. “Want me to read it to you?”

I consider the offer, wondering just how much I can take. _I want to know,_ I decide at last.

I nod slowly. “O-okay.”

John pulls it open, pulling out a fancy-scripted pink letter. _Of course everything’s pink._

He takes it in before unfolding it, scanning over it. “ _Sherlock, I know it’s been years since last we spoke. And I know you probably have a life of your own now. I hope you’re happy, that everything works out for you. I’ve got two beautiful daughters and a handsome young son who constantly reminds me of you. I hope your brother’s okay and I hope Matty is, too. If you don’t want to talk to me, I understand. But if you do, my doors are open. I’ve missed you. Besides, my husband isn’t a rider and you were a natural. I know I probably should say more but I don’t even know if this will reach you and if you want to know more you know where to find me. I haven’t moved. Same old place. Love, Virginia._ ”

John looks up. Small shivers are running through me, but other than that I’m still in relative control. “Who’s Matty?”

I close my eyes. “Matthew Arnatt, though we all called him Matty. He...was a good friend. Helped me out where he could. I haven’t spoken to him in years. He’s...he married a young woman when we were younger and she swept him off to her home. I haven’t seen him since.”

John frowns. “I know you’re smart enough that if you make an effort, you could find him in a matter of minutes. So clearly, you never tried. Why?”

I shrug. “I was busy. I had a life. I didn’t want to...remember that. Remember her.”

John reaches up, catching a tear on his finger. “I’ve never seen you just lose control like that.”

“She’s the only person who’s ever done that to me,” I agree quietly. “No one’s ever gotten closer than she did, or even come close. Well, for a while.”

John tilts his head. “For a while?”

I glance towards him. “You’ve come the closest. You know more about me than anyone else. More than Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and even Mycroft. I never told anyone. I didn’t want to have to relive it again.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips. “So I’m actually your friend? Hard to tell with you.”

I shrug. “It’s...after what happened, it’s been hard to hope again. To believe I _could_ have friends. So I don’t know how to react to most friendly things. I haven’t hugged anyone since I was five. I haven’t held hands with anyone since I was four with my mom. And both my mom and my little sister Arianna died. I don’t have a room in my mind palace for emotions. For understanding what’s friendship and what’s just someone using me. I know there’s a lot of kids in Uni who just used me. They cheated off me. I only let them because if I didn’t, they bullied me too much to make it worth it.”

John tilts his head. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So you feel used?”

I bite my lip. “You could say that. Most people _do_ use me. Remember that case you called ‘the Blind Banker’?”

John nods. “Yeah, why?”

I raise an eyebrow. “The guy who called it in was one of the worst. He used me constantly then acted like we were friends. And when I said no, I...couldn’t move for almost a week after. It wasn’t worth fighting him.”

John’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “A _week_?”

I shrug. “Probably wouldn’t’ve been so bad if the people in the san didn’t hate me. I’m still not sure why, exactly. But I would just stay in my room until I could move again.”

John shakes his head. “Jesus, Sherlock, you could’ve told someone what was going on.”

I shake my head quickly. “No. Everyone there _did_ use me. And if I told, not only would it get worse but it would spread around the school like a wildfire. And everyone would know.”

John shakes his head, squeezing my hand. “That’s...that’s terrible.”

I shrug. “That’s my life.”

I pause. “But I was this close—” I hold up my fingers as close together as I can get them without touching, “—to jumping off a roof. With nothing to stop me. You know what I mean.”

John’s eyes widen even further. “You were suicidal?”

I drop my eyes. “I was. Until I met you. You actually cared. Like I said, people usually just tell me to piss off.”

John shakes his head. “That’s bullshit.”

I flick my eyes towards him. “Lestrade told me he’d let me in the loop on cases if I stopped overdosing on drugs. He knew, he knew it was on purpose. So I did. Molly actually listened to my deductions, even if she didn’t particularly like them. Mrs. Hudson kind of took over the role of my mother, in a way. But it still wasn’t enough.”

He laces his fingers with mine, studying me with a whole new light in his eyes. “Did you have a childhood? Watch Disney movies, hang with friends, sleepovers?”

I drop my eyes, my eyes finding his hand on mine. “I don’t know what most of that is, and no because I didn’t _have_ friends. Neither did Mycroft, but you saw how he turned out. ‘I’m living in a world of goldfish.’ ‘Caring is not an advantage.’ ‘Don’t get involved.’ I don’t know what broke him.”

John winces. “Animated cartoons?”

I shake my head. “No TV. Poor family.”

John blinks. “Okay, a sleepover is a lot of things. You’re staying the night at a friend’s house or they’re at your house. You usually watch movies late into the night and crash on the couch. There’s usually popcorn. Candy. Probably ice cream, too.”

I shake my head. “Didn’t have any friends to do that with.”

John shakes his head. “Damn.”

We’re silent for a while. The silence gives me time to fix my mind palace and replace everything in its place. I add in a few new rooms: _John_ , _Friendship vs. Abuse_ , _Social Queues_ , _Right vs. Wrong (Socially)_.

I close my hand on his, drawing his attention back to me. “You’re abnormally quiet.”

He grins. “Just thinking. I suppose we’re kind of a couple now.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

John chuckles lightly. “Like, boyfriend-boyfriend. If you get what I’m saying.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s a more childish way of putting it, but yes.”

He grins. “Besides, you’re far more comfortable around me than anyone else. Notice: you’re actually holding my hand.”

He lifts our intertwined hands. I shrug casually. “Only because you’ve never done anything to hurt me.”

John grins, pushing his shoes off and pulling his feet up onto the couch. “Yeah, of course I haven’t. Friends don’t do that to each other.”

I glance towards him. “Not in my experience.”

John leans into me, squeezing my hand. “That’s gonna change. Because I swear to god, I will never hurt you.”

I close my eyes, easing the tension out of my muscles. “You never have.”

John rolls his eyes. “I know, and I never will. That’s what love is, and I love you.”

I blink, glancing at him. _What?_

John’s smile turns shy. “You heard me.”

I shake my head slowly. “You could have anyone you wanted. Why me?”

John shrugs. “Maybe it’s cliché, but you love who you love. There’s not much thought involved; you just love them. You love their soul, you love who they are...not what they look like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “ _Very_ cliché. But I see what you mean.”

John musses my hair, grinning. “Good.”

I shake my head. “What are we gonna tell everyone?”

John shrugs casually. “Up to you.”

I grin shyly. “Okay.”

I pull my feet onto the couch, closing my eyes. “Emotionally and mentally exhausting day, especially with this latest case.”

John chuckles lightly. “Are you actually admitting to being tired?”

I hum quietly. “Mmm...if you wanna put it that way, yes. More like I’m tired enough to recognize it.”

John shakes his head, releasing a slow breath. “Which means you’re super tired, right?”

“Pretty much,” I agree uneasily.

John shakes his head again. “You need to learn how to recognize when you’re tired. It’s unhealthy.”

I scoff. “Right. Like I’m doing it on purpose. I don’t _know_ when I’m tired, I just don’t.”

John hums. “I can teach you. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

I shrug. “If you want to.”

He hums and it’s the last sound to reach my ears as I slide to sleep, a deep and dreamless rest—for the first time since I lost Mom and Arianna.


	2. The Man Behind The Machine (John's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John discovers Sherlock's panic attack and calms him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV. Still listening to Skyscraper.

I shake my head, turning the key in the lock and stepping inside, closing the door behind me.

Mrs. Hudson peeks out. “Oh, hello, John. The mail’s arrived already.”

I grin warmly at her. “Hey, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock still working hard?”

She chuckles. “Yep. He was working before I passed him the mail. Think you’re rubbing off on him—good thing, too. He’s friendlier, he’s actually reacting when I talk to him. You’re good for each other.”

I grin, pocketing my keys. “Good to hear.”

Mrs. Hudson disappears and I make my way up the stairs, pausing to listen to the strange racking sobs from the other side of the door. _That’s strange._

I shake my head. _That can’t be Sherlock. Can it?_

I slip in and close the door behind me, my eyes widening as they fall on a scene I never thought I’d see. Sherlock is curled up on the floor, shaking violently and crying hard. And I have no idea what set him off. “Sherlock?”

He doesn’t respond. _Catatonic, that’s great._ “ _Sherlock?_ ”

I make my way over, kneeling down next to him. “Sherlock. _Sherlock?_ ”

He doesn’t respond, dropping his head on his knees. I pick up the discarded letter, setting it on the coffee table. _Virginia Crowe. Who is that?_

I lift Sherlock up onto the couch and sink down next to him, mildly alarmed. _He’s never been like this. He should snap ‘go away’ at least, but he’s not. Maybe he’s too weak. Either way it’s alarming; Sherlock’s never in shock as bad as this. Jesus._

I slip an arm around his shaking frame, lowering my voice. “Sherlock, please, answer me. Say something, anything.”

“V-Virginia,” Sherlock whispers. It’s barely audible, but I catch it.

I swallow. “Sherlock, who’s Virginia?”

He nods to the letter. “Virginia Crowe?” I touch the envelope. “Who’s that? Sherlock, please, talk to me.”

Finally he manages to stutter, “C-c-c-can’t.”

I grit my teeth. “Can’t what? If you don’t talk to me, there’s nothing I can do. Please, Sherlock.”

He shudders, picking up a pen and paper and scrawling the shakiest I’ve ever seen: “I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I lost control, I’m...I can’t do anything. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t talk. My hands are shaking, I’m shaking. Virginia, she’s someone from my past. Someone I hoped never to hear from again.”

Sherlock drops the pen, handing me the paper. I read it several times through. “Someone from your past, a girl. Okay, I think I know what to do.”

I get up, slipping into the kitchen to come back with a cup of tea and a straw. He won’t be able to drink from the cup directly with how badly he’s shaking. “Here.”

He closes his hands tightly on the cup, catching the straw in his mouth and pulling. He starts to sort of breathe again. He swallows hard and keeps drinking until the cup is empty. Then I lift it from his hands, setting it down in the kitchen before sitting next to him again. “You need to breathe. And sitting like that isn’t going to help at all.”

Sherlock slowly uncurls, collapsing into the couch. I leave an arm wrapped around him—but for the moment, to my surprise, he doesn’t even complain. He licks his lips, struggling to slow his breathing back to normal.

Sherlock closes his eyes, still breathing way too shaky. But over time, his breathing slows back to a normal rate.  Slowly, too slowly, his tension eases. His hands are still trembling, but it’s an improvement.

Despite the improvement, though, I’m still worried. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

Sherlock refuses to look at me, wiping his face dry and stemming the flow of tears.

I slide my hand into his, drawing his attention a little back towards me. “Sherlock.”

He swallows hard. “Better.”

I shake my head slowly. “You’re shaking. What the hell set you off?”

“Virginia,” He mutters, glancing towards me. “Old...old friend.”

“Old friend, right.” I shake my head disbelievingly. “ _Old friends_ don’t get that reaction.”

He swallows again. “She...she abandoned me? When I got kidnapped?”

I frown, startled. _What?_ “You got kidnapped?”

Sherlock closes his eyes. “I started solving cases when I was fourteen. One that I solved was...well, the guy never gave up. And the more I dug, the more cases I took...the more enemies I had. So I was knocked out and ferried to China. Luckily, I made a friend. I solved a case or two. But just as I was about to go home, I got the letter Mycroft had sent. Handwritten, more than he usually did. And he told me how everything was back home, how everyone I knew was okay. He also told me that Virginia has married some guy I never even met in that time. I-I’ve never felt like that before. And I don’t want to again.”

My eyes widen. _Oh._ “You mean she broke your heart.”

Sherlock hangs his head as if it’s shameful, running a trembling hand over his hair. “If you could call it that. She didn’t just...she broke _me_. She shattered my whole world. So I tried to keep going. I blocked out emotions so I couldn’t feel the pain. I built up my mind palace to help me in cases. I tried to forget. I tried...I tried to move on.”

He flicks a hand towards the letter. “I haven’t seen something like that in...since I was fifteen. Since my world fell apart. Seeing it again just...I don’t know. I lost control, my walls fell. No one can handle that much emotion at once. Especially not me. Not after all this time.”

I pick the letter up curiously, turning it over in my hands. “You wanna read it?”

Sherlock shakes his head, his voice breaking as he says, “I can’t.”

I pause, suggesting quietly, “Want me to read it to you?”

Sherlock considers it for awhile, then nods slowly. “O-okay.”

I pull it open, pulling out a fancy-scripted, pink letter.

He take it in before unfolding it, scanning over it curiously. “ _Sherlock, I know it’s been years since last we spoke. And I know you probably have a life of your own now. I hope you’re happy, that everything works out for you. I’ve got two beautiful daughters and a handsome young son who constantly reminds me of you. I hope your brother’s okay and I hope Matty is, too. If you don’t want to talk to me, I understand. But if you do, my doors are open. I’ve missed you. Besides, my husband isn’t a rider and you were a natural. I know I probably should say more but I don’t even know if this will reach you and if you want to know more you know where to find me. I haven’t moved. Same old place. Love, Virginia._ ”

I look up. Sherlock is trembling a little, but other than that he still seems sort of stable. “Who’s Matty?”

He closes my eyes. “Matthew Arnatt, though we all called him Matty. He...was a good friend. Helped me out where he could. I haven’t spoken to him in years. He’s...he married a young woman when we were younger and she swept him off to her home. I haven’t seen him since.”

I frown suspiciously. “I know you’re smart enough that if you make an effort, you could find him in a matter of minutes. So clearly, you never tried. Why?”

Sherlock shrugs. “I was busy. I had a life. I didn’t want to...remember that. Remember her.”

I reach up, catching a tear on my thumb. “I’ve never seen you just lose control like that.”

“She’s the only person who’s ever done that to me,” Sherlock says quietly. “No one’s ever gotten closer than she did, or even come close. Well, for a while.”

I tilt my head, blinking. “For a while?”

Sherlock glances towards me. “You’ve come the closest. You know more about me than anyone else. More than Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and even Mycroft. I never told anyone. I didn’t want to have to relive it again.”

A faint smile tugs on my lips. “So I’m actually your friend? Hard to tell with you.”

Sherlock shrugs it off. “It’s...after what happened, it’s been hard to hope again. To believe I _could_ have friends. So I don’t know how to react to most friendly things. I haven’t hugged anyone since I was five. I haven’t held hands with anyone since I was four with my mom. And both my mom and my little sister Arianna died. I don’t have a room in my mind palace for emotions. For understanding what’s friendship and what’s just someone using me. I know there’s a lot of kids in Uni who just used me. They cheated off me. I only let them because if I didn’t, they bullied me too much to make it worth it.”

I tilt my head. _That’s new._ “Now we’re getting somewhere. So you feel used?”

He bites his lip nervously. “You could say that. Most people _do_ use me. Remember that case you called ‘ _the Blind Banker_ ’?”

I nod. “Yeah, why?”

He crooks an eyebrow. “The guy who called it in was one of the worst. He used me constantly then acted like we were friends. And when I said no, I...couldn’t move for almost a week after. It wasn’t worth fighting him.”

My eyes widen and my mouth drops open in blank shock. “A _week_?”

Sherlock shrugs weakly. “Probably wouldn’t’ve been so bad if the people in the san didn’t hate me. I’m still not sure why, exactly. But I would just stay in my room until I could move again.”

I shake my head. “Jesus, Sherlock, you could’ve told someone what was going on.”

He shakes his head quickly. “No. Everyone there _did_ use me. And if I told, not only would it get worse but it would spread around the school like a wildfire. And everyone would know.”

I shakes my head, squeezing his hand. “That’s...that’s terrible.”

Sherlock looks away. “That’s my life.”

He pauses, shifting uneasily and dropping his eyes. “But I was this close—” He holds up his fingers as close together as they can get without touching, “—to jumping off a roof. With nothing to stop me. You know what I mean.”

My eyes widen even further. _What?_ “You were suicidal?”

Sherlock drops his eyes, fiddling with his shirt. “I was. Until I met you. You actually _cared_. Like I said, people usually just tell me to piss off.”

I shake my head. “That’s bullshit.”

He glances at me. “Lestrade told me he’d let me in the loop on cases if I stopped overdosing on drugs. He knew, he knew it was on purpose. So I did. Molly actually listened to my deductions, even if she didn’t particularly like them. Mrs. Hudson kind of took over the role of my mother, in a way. But it still wasn’t enough.”

I lace my fingers with his again, studying him in a whole new light. “Did you have a childhood? Watch Disney movies, hang with friends, sleepovers?”

Sherlock drops his eyes to our intertwined fingers. “I don’t know what most of that is, and no because I didn’t _have_...friends. Neither did Mycroft, but you saw how he turned out. ‘I’m living in a world of goldfish.’ ‘Caring is not an advantage.’ ‘Don’t get involved.’ I don’t know what broke him.”

I wince. _Jeeze._ “Animated cartoons?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “No TV. Poor family.”

I blink. “Okay, a sleepover is a lot of things. You’re staying the night at a friend’s house or they’re at your house. You usually watch movies late into the night and crash on the couch. There’s usually popcorn. Candy. Probably ice cream, too.”

He shakes his head again. “Didn’t have any friends to do that with.”

I shake my head slowly. _He didn’t have much of a childhood._ “Damn.”

We’re silent for a while. Then Sherlock closes his hand on mine, drawing my attention back to him. “You’re abnormally quiet.”

I grin shyly. “Just thinking. I suppose we’re kind of a couple now.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

I chuckle lightly. “Like, boyfriend-boyfriend. If you get what I’m saying.”

He rolls his eyes, but he blushes, too. “That’s a more childish way of putting it, but yes.”

My grin widens. “Besides, you’re far more comfortable around me than anyone else. Notice: you’re actually _holding my hand_.”

I lift our intertwined fingers. Sherlock shrugs casually. “Only because you’ve never done anything to hurt me.”

I grin, kicking his shoes off and pulling my feet up onto the couch. “Yeah, of course I haven’t. Friends don’t do that to each other.”

Sherlock glances nervously at me. “Not in my experience.”

I lean into him, squeezing his hand. “That’s gonna change. Because I swear to god, I will never hurt you.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, tension easing. “You never have.”

I roll my eyes. “I know, and I never will. That’s what love is, and I love you.”

Sherlock blinks in surprise, glancing at me. My smile turns shy. “You heard me.”

He shakes his head slowly, protesting, “You could have anyone you wanted. Why me?”

I shrug casually. “Maybe it’s cliché, but you love who you love. There’s not much thought involved; you just love them. You love their soul, you love who they are...not what they look like.”

He raises an amused eyebrow. “ _Very_ cliché. But I see what you mean.”

I ruffle his hair, grinning. “Good.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “What are we gonna tell everyone?”

I shrug casually. “Up to you.”

For the first time, Sherlock grins shyly. “Okay.”

He pulls his feet onto the couch, closing his eyes. “Emotionally and mentally exhausting day, especially with this latest case.”

I chuckle lightly. “Are you actually admitting to being tired?”

He hums quietly. “Mmm...if you wanna put it that way, yes. More like I’m tired enough to recognize it.”

I shake my head, releasing a slow breath. “Which means you’re super tired, right?”

“Pretty much,” he agrees uneasily.

I shakes my head again. “You need to learn how to _recognize_ when you’re tired. It’s unhealthy.”

He scoffs, a slight return to normal. “Right. Like I’m doing it on purpose. I don’t _know_ when I’m tired, I just don’t.”

I hum quietly. “I can teach you. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

Sherlock shrugs, allowing, “If you want to.”

I hum quietly and Sherlock falls limp, slipping to sleep at last.


	3. Crashed (Mrs. Hudson's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson finds the sleeping pair and is surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson's POV.

I make my way up the stairs. They’ve been silent for an abnormally long time.

I peek in the door, my eyes meeting an unexpected sight. John is asleep on the couch. Sherlock is actually sleeping for once, curled up in John’s arms. Their hands are linked, fingers laced together.

What any of this even means is lost on me. _Clearly, something happened. They’ve never been like that._

I shake my head, heading back downstairs. They’ll wake up on their own.


	4. Enough (Sherlock's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF. Sherlock tells Lestrade he's basically a father to him (which is adorable). John & Sherlock talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV. FLUFF.

I wake up slowly, my eyes refocusing to find I got a full night’s sleep—it was nine PM and now it’s ten AM.

I swallow hard, peeking at John. He’s still asleep, curled up against me. _So it wasn’t just a dream._

John stirs, his cheek pressing into my shoulder. It’s not altogether uncomfortable, either.

I slip an arm around him, eyes half-closed. I’m still waking up.

John stirs again, yawning and curling into me. I shake my head. _I’ve never felt anything like this._

He finally looks up, our faces inches apart—close enough to feel his breath on my face. “Hey…”

I smile softly. “Hey. What happened to ‘ _not gay_ ’ and ‘ _not his date_ ’?”

He flushes scarlet. “Bi. Besides, what happened to ‘ _married to my work_ ’?”

I shrug casually. “You broke down my walls. People change.”

“From what I heard from Lestrade, you didn’t change in the five years he knew you. Not that I mind.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Like I said, it wasn’t enough. You, on the other hand, you’ve always been enough.”

John flushes crimson. “Wha’d’you mean?”

I shake my head. “You’re smart enough to figure it out, John. Though I think most people call it love.”

John grins. “You love me?”

I offer him a shy smile. “Maybe.”

There’s a silence during which the only thing that happens is John seems to be absorbing what just happened. _He’s quiet a lot recently. This must be a lot to take in._

He shakes his head. “That the first time you ever said you love someone?”

I shrug. “Wha’d’you think?”

He grins. “Probably. But since I love you, the thought that I actually captured your heart is awesome.”

I adjust my grip on his hand, which miraculously didn’t change overnight. “The first time you said ‘ _amazing_ ’, when most people would’ve said ‘ _piss off_ ’...that was the first time anyone said that. I already knew, when you said that, that I could get along with you—better than with anyone else.”

John chuckles. “And we grew closer from there. Pretty crazy to think it’s been three years now.”

I shake my hair out of my face. “Yeah. Are we...are we a thing now? Like, how normal people put it, if you know what I’m saying?”

John grins. “We are most certainly a thing now, yes.”

I stretch a little, unwilling to get up. “I need a case.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Thought you had one.”

“No, no, I’ve already solved that one...it was far too obvious, hiding in plain sight.”

John raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think there’re any cases right now.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I need something to calm my brain. Sociopath sounds more intimidating, but more like ADHD. It’s like...like having too many tabs open on a computer. The processor slows, it takes longer for things to register. Just like a brain with too many thoughts, only the brain is more chaotic. The mind palace helps, but doesn’t change the fact that I’m thinking of too many things and possibilities at once to focus on much. Cases take up most of my brain, leaving little room for stray thoughts.”

John raises an interested eyebrow. “So you need something that takes your focus?”

I nod. “That’s why the violin works so well. The motion of the hands combined with the mental composing of songs calms me, takes enough room to let me process what I’m thinking about before the thought vanishes.”

John shrugs. “There are other distractions. Movies. Food. Theaters, both film and plays. Going for walks in the park. Things _normal_ people do.”

I shake my head. “The very problem is normal people do it. It doesn’t work very well for me. Movies? I space out, lose focus. My mind wanders. Walks? Same thing. Rides in the cab or on the Tube, too. Food is temporary. Theater pieces rarely keep my attention for long.”

John grins. “Then how do you focus on me so easily?”

I slowly raise an eyebrow. “People take more focus. Besides, you’re smart enough to find interesting things to say that keep my attention. Most people don’t know how to get my attention.”

John grins, squeezing my hand. “Hey, is that a compliment? From the great and mighty Sherlock Holmes? I’m honored.”

I shrug casually. “That’s only because I love you. Compliments are beyond me most of the time.”

John rolls over, dropping his head in my lap and grinning up at me. “You’re adorable. And you know you can learn if you try.”

I shrug. “What’s the point? Flattery won’t help in my line of work.”

“Could get the witnesses talking, though,” he counters lightly.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

John rolls up off the couch, releasing my hand slowly. “You realize we were holding each other’s hands all night?”

I grin, sitting up. “Not at all.”

John smiles back and vanishes into the kitchen.

I shake my head, picking up a piece of paper and writing down the quote I had found so long ago that I finally understand—and this time, my writing is normal and much more legible. “ _If you have one friend who understands you on your level of crazy, one friend is all you will ever need._ ”

I pause, considering the things I’d heard with my ears and not my heart. “ _Friends laugh with you. Best friends know the difference between a fake smile and a real one; they can see the truth in your eyes._ ”

John hands me a cup of coffee, flopping down with his laptop. “You missed one.”

I look up, raising an eyebrow. John slides the pen from my hands, scrawling out a different quote: “ _You’re going to meet people who are intimidated by you. You’re different. People don’t know how to react or how to accept someone who doesn’t follow the crowd...They are not used to someone who doesn’t try to fit in. So instead of bolstering your uniqueness, they’ll try and make you feel weird or damaged. I’m here to offer some well earned advice: Screw them._ ”

A half-smile tugs on my lips and I shake my head. “Just writing things I remember but never really understood.”

John grins. “So what? Anderson and Donovan are like that. Point is, don’t worry about them. They don’t matter.”

I shrug. “They don’t matter, not really. Though it took me several years of them to realize that.”

John grins. “You’re lucky I wasn’t around. I would’ve kicked their arses for messing with you.”

I glance towards him. _Is that what friendship means?_ “Perhaps it’s a good thing we met after I dismissed them, then. They _are_ police, even if they’re incompetent slobs with little to no intelligence.”

John starts laughing. “That’s like....a really...intelligent way of saying they’re stupid.”

I shrug. “Stupid is a misnomer. A lack of intelligence is not the same as being slow to process things. You process things slowly, yet you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

John blushes crimson and grins, still chuckling. “Coming from you, that’s a pretty high compliment.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Considering I know Mycroft and _his_ crowd, yes. Very.”

John’s grin widens. “Oh my god, you said a one-word sentence that wasn’t just ‘no’. And you agreed with me. Never thought I’d see the day.”

I roll my eyes. “Get used to it.”

John grins, bringing his laptop up. “Hey, you mind if I post about last night and what just happened?”

I shrug. “If you want to, I won’t stop you. I don’t see the point.”

John chuckles. “We’ve been over this. People deserve to know you’re still _human._ ”

“But why?” I shake my head. “Why’s it matter? I save lives every day. If I had known how to deduce things better when I was younger, I might’ve stopped my dad from cheating on my mom. I saw the signs, not that I knew them at the time. I certainly loath cheaters after what he did to her, and just months before she died, too. He was a military man, he should’ve known better.”

John pauses, fingers over the keys. “Your dad was in the military?”

I shrug casually. “Siger Holmes. He was gone a lot of the time. He was nice enough when he was home. But there were signs before he actually cheated.”

John shakes his head. “I swear to God, _you_ need to write a fucking blog about your life. There’s so much I don’t know. Didn’t Mycroft realize it?”

I shake my head. “Not until it had been a few months and he was too far gone. My parents got a divorce, but doesn’t change that if I had known I could’ve caught him before he broke my mother.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you write about your cases? From before we met? Just...like, your past. The unsolved ones, too, like your dad. And the ones like you were talking about, with Virginia. I’d read it if no one else did, and it would give you something to do.”

I drop my head back against the couch. “But where would I get a laptop? You’ve got yours. I only borrow from others. I certainly don’t have the money to buy one.”

John scoffs. “Right. It’s _so hard_ to get money. Come on, pull in a few favors. Hell, ask Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson or Molly for one. No doubt Lestrade wouldn’t object after all you’ve done for the Yard.”

I roll my eyes. “Probably true, yeah. But that requires getting up.”

John chuckles. “Come on, Sherlock. You’re not five, get off your arse and go talk to him for God’s sake.”

I sigh quietly, pushing to my feet and smoothing my suit out, pulling on my coat and scarf. “I won’t be long. I don’t have the patience to take a long time.”

John grins. “Mrs. Hudson’s right, I _am_ a good influence on you. Try and be polite, please?”

I grit my teeth, pretending to be irritated. “Whatever.”

John’s face lights up. “Thanks.”

I raise an eyebrow, halfway out the door. “You’re welcome.”

I slip out, shaking my head. _Pleasantries. Ugh._

Mrs. Hudson smiles warmly at me. “Hello, my boy. Where do you think you’re going?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Simply going to pull in my five years’ worth of favor on John’s request, Mrs. Hudson. And he insisted I be polite, which is already grating on my nerves.”

“Oh, don’t worry too much.” She smiles and ruffles my hair. “Being polite comes more naturally to you, don’t pretend it doesn’t.”

I shake my head, giving her a light half-hug. “Nothing gets past you.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckles. “Of course not. Off you go.”

I slip out the door, closing it behind me and flipping my collar up against the cold breeze.

The walk to Scotland Yard is short but aggravating. Without John’s innocent questions, my brain is racing a million miles a minute. _What if he says no? Of course he wouldn’t do that. What if—? Don’t think like that._

I sigh, shoving my hands in my pockets and sliding inside. This is the first time I’ve shown up without being called upon, and I notice the startled looks of his coworkers.

I make my way to his office without a glance their way. Not being overly polite, but not tossing insults as I might. They clearly notice the difference, exchanging glances.

I slip inside, closing the door behind me and dropping into the chair across the desk from him. I make my voice purposely agitated but softer than usual, drawing his attention. “Detective Inspector.”

Lestrade looks up. “There been a murder?”

I smile faintly. “No, unfortunately. I already solved the last case. I’m only here because John _insisted_.”

Lestrade sets his pen down. “Insisted on what?”

I shake my head. “Calling in favor.”

Lestrade raises an eyebrow. “A bit more specific would do.”

I sigh, closing my eyes. _Patience. Not everyone is as smart as John. And he did request I be polite, God forbid._

“You know I haven’t asked for money on any of the cases—because that is not what I want. Yes?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

I look up, reminding myself to stay patient. “John suggested I call in favor, from the numerous cases I’ve solved over the years, and _request_ a laptop of my own. Since I keep borrowing others’. And he insisted I be polite, which of course is difficult at best.”

Lestrade raises an eyebrow. “You’re listening to him?”

I shrug. “Once he posts on his blog, it’ll make more sense. In my words, let’s just say he’s my friend and leave it at that. I do listen to you more than you realize. Mrs. Hudson is like a second mother to me just as Molly is a friend. John is my best friend. You’re like a father. Better than mine ever was.”

There’s a pause. Lestrade looks startled. “I’m like a father to you?”

I avert my gaze. “The good and the bad. You’re occasionally a pain in my arse—hence the faux drugs’ bust—but you have your bright moments.”

Lestrade shakes his head. “What laptop do you want?”

I shrug. “One that can handle at least ten tabs open at a time and the processes of a blog, considering the Science of Deduction is still ongoing.”

He shrugs. “Okay. I think I have a few spares.”

He shuffles through a few boxes and pulls out a newer laptop, complete with a cord, case, and a black mouse. _Hm._ “This one’s new enough to handle it. Here.”

He hands it over and I weight it in my hands, sliding the mouse and cord into the side pouches of the case. _Simple enough, it’ll do._

I swallow, forcing politeness to drive me again. “Thank you.”

The words are soft, but he still looks up. “You’re welcome. Don’t break it.”

I nod in agreement before rising to my feet. “You might want to read John’s blog. I will say it has a lot to do with me, and a bit about my history. My father, my mother and little sister. You’ll understand after you read it.”

He nods slowly. “Little sister?”

“Arianna. She died when I was little. Don’t offer apologies, please. I’ve heard it too many times over.”

Lestrade shakes his head. “The things you learn.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You have no idea. That’s just the tip of the iceberg, per se. I would _strongly_ suggest Anderson and Donovan do not read the blog, though. They already treat me badly enough, I don’t need more suggestions that I killed my mother and sister. I’ve heard it from my family, I don’t need to hear it again.”

I slip out before he can reply, dropping the strap over my shoulder and sweeping out without a word.


	5. He Is Human (Lestrade's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is actually one of the lines in this chapter. :)
> 
> Lestrade and Sherlock talking (from previous chapter, other viewpoint). Lestrade is surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade's POV. Fluff.

I sign the paper, sighing. _Tedious._

I hear a strange _fwump_ and Sherlock’s voice, softer than I’m used to, greets me, “Detective Inspector.”

I look up. “There been a murder?”

Sherlock smiles faintly. He actually _smiles_ for once. “No, unfortunately. I already solved the last case. I’m only here because John _insisted_.”

I set the pen down, intrigued. “Insisted on what?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Calling in favor.”

I raise an eyebrow, suggesting, “A bit more specific would do.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and releasing a slow breath. “You know I haven’t asked for money on any of the cases—because that is not what I want. Yes?”

I nod, wondering where this is going. “Yeah.”

Sherlock looks back up, continuing, “John suggested I call in favor, from the numerous cases I’ve solved over the years, and _request_ a laptop of my own. Since I keep borrowing others’. And he insisted I be _polite_ , which of course is difficult at best.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re listening to him?”

He shrugs. “Once he posts on his blog, it’ll make more sense. In my words, let’s just say he’s my best friend and leave it at that. I do listen to you more than you realize. Mrs. Hudson is like a second mother to me just as Molly is a friend. John is my best friend. You’re like a father. Better than mine ever was.”

There’s a pause. I blink, asking softly, “I’m like a father to you?”

He averts his gaze, flushing crimson. “The good and the bad. You’re occasionally a pain in my arse—hence the faux drugs’ bust—but you have your bright moments.”

I shake my head. _I’m like a father to you? Wow. Flattery on his part._ “What laptop do you want?”

Sherlock shrugs. “One that can handle at least ten tabs open at a time and the processes of a blog, considering _the Science of Deduction_ is still ongoing.”

I shrug. “Okay. I think I have a few spares.”

I shuffle through a few boxes of old laptops and pulls out a newer laptop. “This one’s new enough to handle it. Here.”

I hand it over and he weighs it in his hands, sliding the mouse and cord into the side pouches of the case. Sherlock swallows audibly, murmuring softly, “Thank you.”

I look up, surprised. _Polite. That’s strange._ “You’re welcome. Don’t break it.”

Sherlock nods politely before rising to his feet. “You might want to read John’s blog. I will say it has a lot to do with me, and a bit about my history. My father, my mother and little sister. You’ll understand after you read it.”

I nod slowly. _He has a little sister?_ “Little sister?”

Sherlock nods, fidgeting uneasily. “Arianna. She died when I was little. Don’t offer apologies, please. I’ve heard it too many times over.”

I shake my head, muttering, “The things you learn.”

He raises a critical eyebrow. “You have no idea. That’s just the tip of the iceberg, per se. I would _strongly_ suggest Anderson and Donovan do not read the blog, though. They already treat me badly enough, I don’t need more suggestions that I killed my mother and sister. I’ve heard it from my family, I don’t need to hear it again.”

He sweeps out before I can say a word, leaving me speechless. _He is human._


	6. John's Post (Sherlock's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John posts his 2 updates to his blog. Sherlock forewarns him that Lestrade will be reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV.

I slip back in, closing the door softly behind me. John is still typing, his fingers flying across the keys at lightning speed. He finally stops and clicks the small button, _post._

I flop down next to him, pulling the strap off. “Lestrade’s already been forewarned you’re posting again.”

John chuckles. “Good. You get one?”

I nod. “He seemed intrigued, at least. But he had a few spares lying around from who knows where.”

I slip the laptop out of its case, setting the bag aside.

John hums, curling up against me. “Wha’d’he say?”

“About?”

John raises an eyebrow. “Judging by the faint blush, I’m guessing he embarrassed you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Good deduction. It wasn’t what he said, more his body language in reaction to something I said. And he seemed startled I was being polite.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Wha’d’you say?”

I glance towards him. “It may have slipped that he’s like a father to me.”

John grins. “Awww, that’s cute.”

I roll my eyes. “Either way, he cooperated just fine when that slipped. He instantly asked what laptop I needed. It was more what he _didn’t_ say than what he did.”

John chuckles. “You should compliment people more often. Maybe they’d like you more.”

I sigh, shaking my head and opening the laptop. It takes five minutes to set up the computer and another five to log in and set up a blog. John lays down with his head in my lap again, grinning.

I shake my head, not sure where to start. The first entry probably should start with Mom and Dad, then Redbeard, too. Maybe throw something about Mycroft in there.

I close my eyes, steadying myself before thinking back to those years. Finding _freak_ on my lockers, crying into Redbeard’s fur. Everything began way back then.

I take a deep breath and begin to type.


	7. Speed Blogger (John's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds out that Sherlock can type exceptionally fast. They discuss what he posted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV.

Sherlock starts to type, his fingers dancing gracefully over the keys.

I curl into him, considering what everyone will say when they see the two posts I just flung up on my blog. One, detailing last night and discovering Virginia and thus Sherlock’s human side. The other, detailing this morning. And a shorter one, announcing our ‘couple’ status with a short disclaimer: I am _not_ gay. I’m bi. ...There’s a difference.

I wait patiently for responses to the posts. Lestrade is the first to comment, on the one about last night. “ _I wondered why he was like that. Glad to hear he has a confidant now. Take good care of him, John._ ”

I smile faintly, typing back quickly. “ _Always._ ”

Another comment pops up from Molly. “ _That’s so heartbreaking! Hope he’s okay now._ ”

I respond immediately. “ _He is. We talked it out and he’s much more peaceful now._ ”

Lestrade comments on the second post. “ _The part about his family is heartbreaking. Even more so when he admitted to his family blaming his sister and mother’s deaths on him. He said he didn’t want Anderson and Donovan to blame their deaths on him, ‘like my family did’._ ”

I flick my eyes towards him, commenting back. “ _He didn’t tell me that. But I suppose it fits with the picture of him as a freak. An outcast even among his own family. A psychopath, as Donovan loves to put it. Do tell her off, will you? He’s hurt by it more than he’d ever admit._ ”

A comment from Sherlock pops up. “ _Don’t talk about me behind my back. But you are right, unfortunately._ ”

I grin up at him. “’Course I’m right.”

“I was talking to both of you,” Sherlock purrs.

I chuckle. “Whatever.”

He shakes his head, still typing. He’s never typed so long before.

I study his face, watching his expression change from vaguely amused to scared to sad. “You don’t usually type so long.”

He drops his gaze to me, pausing in his typing. “Since this is the first time I’ve written about my past, of course it’s longer than usual. But this particular part is all about before I was doing cases, when my parents split up and my dad put Redbeard down. I can write fast if I feel like it. It’s almost done.”

“It’s...” I glance at my watch. “Been ten minutes. How many years are you writing about?”

“Fourteen,” he answers softly. “During which not much happened. I was fourteen was when I got my first case.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What _did_ happen? That’s the first fourteen years of your life.”

“A lot happened, but I type rapidly.” He turns the screen, revealing a huge post for how short a time he’d been typing.

I shake my head. “Damn. I can’t type that fast.”

Sherlock turns it back. “You could if you tried. You’re perfectly capable.”

I grin. “You’re full of compliments today.”

He glances at me and continues typing. “Just because I generally don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. And you’re easily flattered, more than most.”

I grin shyly. “So what?”

“Never said it was a bad thing,” Sherlock purrs. “Merely stating a fact.”

I snuggle closer, closing my eyes. “I love you.”

He pauses in his typing and squeezes my hand. “I love you, too.”

A smile tugs on my lips. “Good.”

He continues typing, shaking his head. “You’re cuddly.”

I grin shyly. “So? You missed a lot of cuddles with your childhood. Besides, you don’t seem to mind.”

Sherlock glances towards me and raises an eyebrow. “Never said it was a bad thing. Don’t mistake interest for frustration. You still have a lot to learn.”

I chuckle lightly. “I didn’t grow up learning like you did.”

He pauses. “I didn’t grow up on it. I started learning when I was fourteen. Mycroft hired some expert huntsman, Amyus Crowe, to teach me. And before you ask, he’s Virginia’s father. They’re American.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Mycroft did that?”

“He also hired someone from _his_ crowd to keep an eye on me. I learned violin from him, as well as martial arts.”

I shake my head. “Your life is much more interesting than mine. Damn.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Not necessarily. There’s several years I did basically nothing with my life.”

“And you can write that much about it?”

Sherlock shrugs uneasily. “Just the highlights. Redbeard, my parents’ divorce, Mycroft before all this, school.”

I frown. “Mycroft before what?”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “When he was _human_. Before he was broken. Before _I_ was broken. Before our family fell apart.”

I shake my head. “Your life. Seriously. Like, both exciting and depressing as hell.”

Sherlock pauses, his gaze shifting from the screen to me. “I wouldn’t classify my life as _exciting_ by any stretch of the imagination. Tedious sometimes, sure. Depressing? Some parts of my life could fall in that category, knowing how social norms are. Frustrating, definitely. But exciting? Not so much.”

I scoff. “Compared to my life? Sherlock, you have no idea. My mom was a drunk and was usually out of a job, which meant crappy little houses and shitty neighborhoods. My sister followed in her footsteps. My dad died. The most exciting thing that ever happened to me before you was the military. And believe me, that’s shitty. I watched my best friend get blown up right in front of me. I saw people with severed limbs from bombs and had to amputate limbs off due to them being crushed by things. It was exhilarating, but even that pales in comparison. With you, I save lives and I don’t _see_ them in that situation. I just save them, solve their murders. Justice without being there.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “I know how bad it can be. My dad had a serious case of PTSD. Doesn’t make my life exciting, though. Shitty, in that context, yes.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

His eyes flick to me, a twitch upward of his eyebrow telling me he caught the frustration in my voice before he turns back to the laptop, continuing to type.

I close my eyes, sighing. _You have no idea._


	8. Flattery (Sherlock's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John flattering the hell out of Sherlock. Sherlock pretends "not to enjoy the attention".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV.

I title the blog as John described it a while back: _The Man Behind The Machine._

The first post finally pulls through, almost novel-length. _The First Fourteen Years._

The post details everything going on around me, the signs of cheating before the cheating, losing Redbeard, being bullied. Being cheated off of, finding ‘freak’ scrawled across my locker every day. Everything that brought me to the point of losing trust. Everything that brought me up to when Mycroft dropped me off with my estranged aunt and uncle. Everything before I met Amyus, Virginia, and Matty. Before I began my life as it is today.

I wonder vaguely if John is planning on reading it. _He probably is,_ my brain answers for me. _Lots of people probably are. And if John posted about it, even more. Who knows how many people actually care to listen. To read. To learn as I did, to essentially grow up with me. I just hope it doesn’t backfire on me like everything else._

I shake my head, starting the next post. _First Case: Death Cloud._

I finish the post in good time and post it, closing the laptop at last. It’s already after noon.

John looks up, smiling faintly. “That was  a long time, even for you.”

I shrug. “First case was a long one. Took about a week to track them down and figure everything out. Including the fact that that was when I met Virginia, Matty, and Amyus for the first time...it’s not a short thing to write about.”

John shrugs. “I’ve written long blogs, but nothing like that.”

I raise an eyebrow in silent challenge. “Have you written anything about your past? Before you met me?”

John blinks. “No.”

I shrug casually. “Exactly.”

John sighs, closing his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re warm?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Nope.”

John smiles faintly. “Anyone ever say something nice to you other than me?”

I shrug. “Once or twice. Molly and Lestrade respectively.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Anything _not_ about cases?”

I shake my head. “No.”

John weaves his fingers through mine. “They need to start, then. By the way, your hair’s super messy and it’s just plain adorable. And you _are_ warm, you know.”

I yawn lightly, pretending not to enjoy the attention. But it _is_ entertaining, despite the fact that flattery usually doesn’t bother me—whether negatively or positively. “I don’t understand how messy hair is adorable, but whatever.”

John grins briefly and plants a kiss on the back of my hand. “It’s a hazard of falling in love. Everything about them is amazing—so much so that words can’t explain it.”

“I don’t know how you explain emotion like that,” I mutter, sliding the laptop in its bag and pushing it aside. That’s enough for now; it’ll take awhile for everyone to read those.

John laughs. “Because when I was hurt, I tried to push through it rather than block the emotion out. I worked to understand it. It’s like you solve cases, I worked to solve the mystery that it emotion.”

“You make that sound so much more fancy than it is,” I protest, resting my free hand on his shoulder.

John rolls his eyes. “You make cases sound more complicated than they are. You have no room to talk.”


End file.
